Broken Machine
by StarscreamII
Summary: (Halo 4 spoilers.) Following the events of Halo 4, John-117 tries to come to terms with the loss of Cortana, and though his ineffective coping methods do more harm than good, he eventually realizes that showing weakness isn't necessarily a bad thing. One-shot.


**A/N: **Halo, guys. Halo. I'll spare you the exposition of how I got into it and save all that for a chaptered story I have in the works. I got this crazy idea after listening to "Chandelier" by Sia, "Green and Blue" and "Never Forget" (both versions) from the Halo 4 and 3 soundtracks, respectively, over and over (and over). With the vibes from those songs, I thought up this little scene. It may be OOC for the usually stoic Chief, but fanfiction is all about the 'what-ifs,' right? Well, this is a 'what if.'

If you don't know anything about the ending of Halo 4, and don't want it spoiled, don't read the next sentence. Or the entire thing, for that matter. Go play the game. Or watch a walkthrough. Or something. I'll wait.

Okay, you're back? Cool.

What if...the Chief completely just flat out _lost it_ when Cortana sacrificed herself? Enjoy, if you can. :/

Warnings: alcohol abuse, vomiting, mentioned character death, and strong language courtesy of Sarah Palmer.

I dedicate this to my sister, for being willing to proofread it even though she tunes me out whenever I start a sentence with "Master Chief," and a friend of mine who, compared to me, is a SPARTAN in his own right and is willing to deal with my rabid fangirl ravings.  
Cover art is by **DallasNagataWhite** over on DeviantART (not made specifically for this, I just thought it fit the mood perfectly).  
**Disclaimer:** I do not own Halo, or John-117, no matter how much I would love to. They belong to Microsoft, Bungie, 343i, etc, etc, etc...

**Read, review, and spread some Halo love, everyone!**

* * *

Blood, alcohol, and vomit. That's what Palmer smelled when she found him. He was slumped over a toilet, clutching the rim of the bowl with one hand and a broken bottle of vodka in the other. Shards of glass were sticking out of his palm, leaving crimson stains on the cold concrete floor. In the corner of the stall were two more bottles, both empty.

"Leave me alone."

He hadn't even turned around. His voice was the same, no-nonsense, almost monotonous, only it sounded...hollow, now.

"You've got to pull yourself together, Chief."

"I said get out."

She hesitated only a mere moment, mouth open, considering saying something. No, it wasn't worth it. If the savior of humanity was shitfaced drunk over a single AI unit...there was nothing she could do. Without another word, she turned on her heel and left.

* * *

A new wave of nausea broke over him, triggered by the speaking, and when the door shut on Palmer, he pitched forward and vomited again. It burned the back of his throat - there was nothing but hard alcohol coming back up now.

He dragged the back of his hand across his mouth, futilely, before his stomach knotted and forced his head back into the toilet. He was completely powerless. The glass shredding his hand, the raw burning from his insides - for the first time, it was pain that mattered. Pain that demanded to be felt. It forced him to his knees, conquered him, broke him.

Spitting out the last of the hot bile, he leaned back against the wall and studied the shattered bottle in his hand. His blood ran in heavy rivulets down his arms, hugging the scars and kissing the veins goodbye. It was so bright, so real. So human.

He wasn't the machine. But neither was she. She deserved the title of human more than he did. He was just a broken, bloody, shell. A twisted abomination of a little boy, drained of compassion and infused with titanium, destined to do nothing but fight and kill. No, he wasn't human. Nor was he machine. He was a sick hybrid of both.

"Dammit, Cortana." His voice was a grating rasp that tore into the silence. The quiet had always suited him, but now it cut deeper than the glass. She should have just let him die. They could have gone out together, with a bang, with honor. They could have been remembered as war heroes; the soldiers that sacrificed themselves for humanity.

Instead, she had sacrificed herself for...him. One man. No, not even a man. A Spartan. A medical experiment.

It hadn't hit him how bad off he really was until he was standing on the observation deck of the _Infinity,_ staring out at the beautiful planet of Earth. He hadn't known how to react. At first, he'd thought that he'd be filled with a white-hot rage, driving him to destroy anything between him and his goal of revenge. But the rage never came. Day after day he laid in the silence, at times even attempting to force himself to be angry. But that never worked and all he felt was empty. Hollowed out.

That was when the anger came. But it wasn't anger directed at the Forerunners, the Covenant, the Flood, or the military. No, it was directed inward. He was furious with himself. For being so dependent. For relying on emotions he thought he didn't have. Emotions he _shouldn't _have. For compromising everything because of love.

That anger was the reason he was here tonight. He couldn't live with himself. The Covenant were right. He was a monster. A demon. He'd learned to love too late and it cost him the only person who deserved that love.

The thought made him sick again and he barely made it back over the toilet before a particularly harsh bout of dry heaves forced his broad back into a sharp arch. It was all just raw acid and bitter hot air that left him gasping and shaking and praying to anyone who would listen that he would just pass out soon.

Sitting back once more, John ran his non-bloodied hand through his hair, taking a shaky breath and gritting his teeth against the sour churning in his stomach. What would she think if she saw him like this? It didn't matter. She never would. It all came down to that. That was why he was here in the first place. He tossed the broken bottle against the wall, smiling in grim satisfaction when the glass shattered and fell to the floor, glinting weakly in the fluorescent light.

_Chief_, she'd say, _don't do something you'll regret. You've gotta keep going for them. Remember? Humanity? All those people you're fighting for?_

But he wasn't fighting for them. He was never fighting for them. Not those last few days, anyway. It was all for her, and she was gone.

_I'm not doing this for mankind!_

It was that moment that John knew he would lose her. It was that moment that made him detonate that bomb with his own hands. That moment that made him falter in disbelief when he'd seen her standing there, as real as any human woman. That moment that forced him to protest the inevitable as she touched him - finally - with pained longing in her eyes. She'd already made up her mind.

_Welcome home, John_.

And then she'd been gone.

But it was also that moment that made him realize what he'd been too duty-driven to realize before. What had started out as a mission - to protect the other for the sake of the UNSC - had become a _relationship_. A very real, complex, _human_ connection. Not between a soldier and an AI unit, but between two people. Two people, who, despite all odds and obstacles in their way, _cared_ about each other. _Loved_ each other.

And that was what drove John to the edge.

* * *

"Well, shit."

Lasky couldn't help but agree. It was a sight he never thought he'd see. The Master Chief passed out cold on the floor of a bathroom stall, surrounded by blood and broken glass.

"Took three industrial-sized bottles of hard liquor to get him here. Halsey did a damn fine job of making these tough fuckers."

For once, Tom didn't feel like reprimanding Palmer about her language. "Let's just get him to the infirmary."

Palmer stared flatly. "I may be a Spartan, but it's gonna take more than just me and you to pick up _his_ dead weight."

Lasky sighed. "Roland, send some more Spartan IV's down here, if you would."

"Of course, sir," came the disembodied voice.

Several minutes later, the requested backup filed in, gaping at the scene.

Palmer turned on them. "If any of you breathe a _word_ about this to anyone else," she hissed. "You will have to answer directly to me for your punishment. Understood?"

"Yes ma'am!"

"Good. Now help me pick him up. Roland, map out a route to the infirmary for us. Preferably with as little interference as possible."

"Right away, ma'am." There was a moment of pause. "It seems as though the best option would be to take a left outside, then cut through the B-sector corridor. Would you like me to lock down any access points to the hall?"

"If you - wouldn't - mind," she grunted, hefting one of the Spartan-II's arms over her shoulders. Damn, this man had some serious muscle mass.

"All access points locked; you're free to go to the infirmary without any disruption."

"Thanks, Roland. Alright, boys, let's get him out of here."

* * *

He woke up to bright light and Palmer's face. Groaning, he shut his eyes again and swallowed back the nausea threatening to take over. He could feel the blood pounding in his ears as he turned to the side.

"How're you feeling, Chief?"

Lasky. John opened his mouth to say something along the lines of, "I've been better," but what came out instead (and landed on Lasky's shoes) was just as articulate.

"Mm. That bad, huh? Well, doesn't surprise me. Your blood-alcohol level could kill a Brute."

John didn't try to speak. He just wanted to be left alone. What didn't they understand about that? None of them could provide the kind of company he was looking for. They could fill the infirmary with all the Marines, ODSTs, and Spartans the UNSC could muster and it wouldn't be enough to fill the hole Cortana had left.

He hurt. Everything hurt. He embraced the physical pain. He knew how to deal with that. It was the _feeling_ that made him want to slip back into a dreamless sleep. Maybe one he'd never wake up from. Maybe, if he was lucky… He inwardly cringed. _They let me pick. Choose whichever Spartan I wanted... You had something the others didn't. Can you guess?_ He set his jaw, but didn't try to fight the memory. _...Luck._

He glanced down at the IV in his hand. He didn't have to look at the others' faces to know what was going through their minds. Pity. Disgust. Disbelief. Disappointment. Seeing their infallible war machine laid out in a hospital bed with self-inflicted alcohol poisoning.

Luck. _Where's all the luck, now, Cortana?_

* * *

He woke again, alone. They'd moved him back to his own quarters and he didn't have the IV in his hand anymore. The dark gray walls were a welcome change from the harsh lighting of the infirmary bay. After taking a few minutes to make sure he could sit up without falling over or vomiting again, he checked the time. 0300. He'd probably slept for close to twenty-four hours. He raked his fingers through his hair, just noticing that the shards of glass were gone and a bloody bandage had taken their place.

His eyes roved over the room, finally settling on the holodeck. He stared at it for a few long minutes. She'd never stand there again. He didn't even have her chip. Though, in a way, maybe that was a good thing. Seeing it dark and empty would just have added insult to injury and rubbed salt in the already-raw wound.

He didn't realize he was crying until a tear dripped onto his leg, and even then, he didn't reach up to wipe them off of his face. It wasn't worth the effort. No one was there to see him, nor did he feel any shame for crying. It felt surprisingly good. It felt human.

Suddenly, the holodeck buzzed to life. But instead of Cortana's blue, it was Roland's yellow. "Chief," the _Infinity_ AI began softly, not blind to the man's emotional state, "I found something when the technicians were running diagnostics on your armor. You should probably see it." The data pad on the table next to John's bunk switched on. "I'll leave you alone to read it." And with that, the holodeck flickered into darkness again.

John swallowed hard and reached for the data pad with shaking hands. On the screen was a file. He opened it.

_John. My amazing John. You were the best thing that happened to me. I know I always said you were the lucky one, but after all these years with you, I think _I'm_ the lucky one. You probably have no idea how you managed that, but all I can say is that you made me wish I was human. Eight years wasn't enough time, and honestly, I don't think forever would have been enough time. You are more extraordinary than you think. It took some work on my part, but I was finally able to find the man inside the machine. And the man I found is a man who's brave and loyal to his cause, but also passionate towards the people he cares about. I want to say thank you for making my short life the best life a girl could ask for._

_I love you, John._

* * *

**A/N: **Whew. That's that, guys. Hope you all liked reading it as much as I liked writing it. John is just such a complex character, and I can tell it's going to take me a lot of writing before I really get to know him. That being said, keep on the lookout for more, and be sure to leave me a few thoughts on this. I'd love to know what you all thought of my first attempt at dissecting the Master Chief and his messy but beautiful relationship with Cortana.

And yes, for the record, I cried when I wrote her letter.


End file.
